Don't Stand So Close to Me
by frosthawkandclassicrock
Summary: Clint Barton is a senior in high school. Things went smoothly until he screwed up and fell for his History teacher.
1. Half His Age

**Hello! This is the first story I've decided to start uploading on here. I think you get an idea of what I like to write by looking at my pen name. I really don't know what qualifies as a "songfic," but this might be a songfic? Considering the plot is more or less the lyrics in story format. All inspiration comes from the Avengers, Thor, and the wonderful song Don't Stand So Close to Me by the Police. I hope you enjoy!**

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Clint leaned forward on his elbows. History always went by too fast. He stared at his teacher who stood front and center at the board, writing out their latest assignment instructions. His dark eyes meticulously took apart the elder man, pondering his green eyes and barely pigmented skin. There was little showing, his pinstriped jacket and black pants covering a majority of his slender form. Clint's ears drank the deep, accented voice that belonged to his favorite teacher.

"Mr. Laufeyson," someone across the room jarred Barton's thoughts. "Does this paper have to be a certain number of pages, or just a minimum number of paragraphs?"

"Eight paragraphs. No more, no less. Page number doesn't matter." His response was short and to the point, as always.

"Did you listen at all?" Clint prompted the asker. The dark haired man turned his attention to the sandy haired male, the shadow of a grin on his face.

"If anyone has any further questions, ask Mr. Barton." With that, he took a seat at his own desk. Clint's cheeks felt a bit warm, but he ignored it. There were a few muted giggles about the room, but that was expected. The bell rang only moments later, and the shuffling of rising high schoolers was clamorous. They slung back packs over their shoulders and grabbed binders from their desks, their heavy feet creating friction with the ground. Clint was the only person who took his time gathering his folders and back pack. He stood and put his back pack on properly.

He was the last out of class, wishing Mr. Laufeyson a good afternoon. History was the last class of the day, so he could go home and take a nap with fresh memories of his instructor. He drove home, home being a small apartment in the shitty part of town. He was an orphan, old enough to live on his own. Since he was old enough to have a job, he had worked. He had saved. Now he only needed to work weekends and Wednesday evenings to stay afloat.

He dropped on the couch and closed his eyes, sighing discernibly. He was left to yearn perpetually and desire for the man he could never have. There was the age gap, the sexuality factor, and you know, the fact that teachers and students in a relationship was frowned upon if illegal wasn't enough.

He wished for the aching to end, but he loved to divulge in his less than innocent dreams. Off he went into space and pleasant imagery, cozy in his sleep.


	2. Wet Bus Stop

**If you stuck around for chapter 2, I applaud you. The next chapter will be the last. (If you're familiar with the song or have at least looked up the lyrics, you can probably guess I'm following the verses as much as I can)**  
**Although, if you're interested in added fluff or maybe lemoniness, check out my tumblr within the next week or so. I will try to get some up that fits with this story. Because obviously stuff happens between part two and three.  
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**Ooh, before I forget, I don't own anything affiliated with Marvel, the Police, or Sting. This is purely the work of a fan.**

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Two weeks later, Clint was having a wonderful morning. He had a great feeling about today in spite of the rain that pattered on his window and the grey skies that seemed to hang low. He stepped out to start his car before grabbing breakfast. An ugly cough sputtered from his car when he twisted the key. Clint tried it again, eyebrows wrinkled and pulled together, his good feeling sinking. He turned the key two more times with no success.

"Shit, baby, please don't die on me now..." He popped the hood and did a rapid check up. No luck. He attempted to start it one last time in desperation.

Clint went back inside and grabbed his backpack and an orange before heading out to the nearest bus stop. As he neared the blue bus stop sign, he saw two of his best friends.

"Rogers! Natasha!" Clint jogged the last half block.

"Hey, Clint," Steve grinned. "Why aren't you driving?"

"Car trouble..." Clint finger combed his rain soaked hair. "So bus it is for me."

"I bet Stark could give you a hand," Steve's voice had a hint of admiration in it. Clint smirked subtly.

"I'm sure he could."

A car pulled up next to the stop. The bus wasn't expected for another 3 minutes, and save for the car that had just pulled up, the street was empty. The passenger window rolled down and an all too familiar, deep voice rolled out.

"Clint, get in." The history teacher unlocked the doors. Steve's jaw hung open and Bruce nudged Clint. _No way._

"He drives by this stop every day, you know," Steve murmured. "From the direction of your apartment, too."

"I'd get in there quick if I were you," Natasha whispered. Clint's cheeks had a pink tint to them. "Lucky bastard."

Clint reached forward and pulled the door open, his blush growing all the while. He ducked down into the vehicle and closed the door behind him. He was in mild shock, some uncertainty lurking in his mind.

"Do you usually ride the bus?" Laufeyson asked. If Steve hadn't said anything, Clint wouldn't know his teacher already knew the answer.

"I usually drive. Car wouldn't start today," he replied. "What brings you this way?"

"I live five blocks south of that bus stop. This is just my route to school. I'm running a bit late today, however." He kept his eyes to the street, the windshield wipers providing some background noise.

"Oh." The rest of the drive felt too fast, like they only had seconds together instead of an eight minute drive. The car stopped in front of the school to let Clint out first. On his way up the pavement to the doors, he thought about what it would have been like to kiss his teacher. He shook his head at himself and jaunted down the hall to his locker.

Loki pulled into his usual space around the corner of the building once Barton was inside.

_What am I doing? He's just a kid. He seems to have an interest in me, but then again, teenage boys are sacks of sexual arousal and ever changing minds. It's probably the excitement factor. Or a stupid dare given to him by that Stark kid. He probably thinks I'm a creepy old man._

Frustrated, he switched off the engine and made his way into the building to prepare for class.


	3. It's No Use

**Whew, for no real reason, I took longer than I expected to to get this uploaded. I probably should stay away from anything long term. I'm just too fickle. **

**Shout out to Yumi! I'll have the smut on tumblr very soon, and I really appreciate all of your support. You can talk to me through my ask if you don't have a FF account. Okay! again, I don't own anything belonging to Marvel, the Police, or Sting. Thank you.**

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Clint was absolutely glowing with bliss, a smile continually brightening his face and his hand always shooting up to answer all of his teacher's questions. They were past the point of "Mr. Laufeyson" and onto "Loki," and they may have been to the point of "Clint baby."

There were only minutes of class left; Loki had left the room and everyone was left to work on their assignments.

"Hey. Barton," a guy two desks away leered. "I bet you get all kinds of extra after-class help."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Clint frowned, his eyebrows knitting together. His mood was pushed under a layer of defense, but it didn't die completely. He jerked, making an obscene motion with his pelvis below the desk. Clint flipped him off and looked down at his notebook.

"Yeah, Barton, you bangin' the teacher?" Clint's face burned with resentment and humiliation, gritting his teeth. His head ducked around, the way most people do when they're cracking their necks. He bit his lip, restraining any curses that begged to be let out. Clint's fingers closed inwards, his thumbs fixed to his palms.

"Dude, leave him alone."

"Laufeyson's hot, I could totally see why he would." A guy two rows to the right took his earbuds out and looked around, his expression asking what was going on. The kid behind him whispered. "Clint's screwing Laufeyson." He responded with "Are you serious? That's disgusting."

Loki had passed the teachers' lounge on his way to the printing room to retrieve some handouts. He overheard his name and paused in the doorway. listening in.

"-that Barton kid." "He's in my fifth period, he's such a smart kid. How did he get into such a dumb position? Having a relationship with a teacher; one of the same sex no less!" "I bet it's all Laufeyson. He has a way with words, you know. Could get you to kill your own mother and believe it was the best thing to do." "I think it's all lies. Just a harmless crush on the kid's part." "Are you serious? Watch them leave the building tonight. They may as well walk hand in hand through the lot." "This sounds like a bunch of garbage-"

"Hey!" Loki welcomed himself into the lounge. "Something seems to have gone missing from my room. Have any of you seen Travis around?" Travis was room 317's, Loki's room, afternoon custodian. They all froze, probably all thinking "Speak of the devil."

"Nope." One of the math teachers spoke up. "What is it that you're missing?"

"Oh, nothing of any real importance. I just cannot seem to find my tea thermos. I know for a fact that I did not bring it home yesterday."

"I see. I'll let you know if I see it," the same teacher said.

"Alright. I'll be going now, I have to get back to my class before the bell rings." Loki turned away from them, zipping from the printing room back to his class.

Clint was breathing in an overworked, ragged way, his eyes gleaming with ghosts of tears. There were cherry red lines seeping from his bottom lip where his teeth were digging in. Loki returned, and the sight gave him a terrible shock. He heard the whispers borne of the louder voices he picked up from the hall.

His hand went to the left portion of his chest, his heart was literally stopping. Clint turned his head to see Loki caving in on himself, dropping to his knees and left hand. The other still clung to his shirt, trying to get to his heart.

Over whispers of "fucking nasty," "I bet he sucks his dick," and "oh stop it, you're just being an asshole," the final thing he heard was his own name, a familiar yelp of "LOKI!"


End file.
